Memories Of My Life

When I was thirteen , or fourteen , I walked up to the Azusa foothills with a friend of mine. His name was Shawn Kingsbury. We walked up there a lot in those days , usually early in the morning , on weekends , and would hang out under the first bridge.
One particular morning , we took pack packs with us , filled with sandwiches and water , I presume. We were smoking cigars that day. I don’t remember if we took them from my dad , or Shawn’s. But , I do remember , as we looked for a place to hide the packs , that we were flicking our ashes all over the place. We finally decided to put them up in a nearby tree. Then we hiked up the hill.
When we came back down the hill , we saw smoke in the distance. We knew immediately that we must have been responsible , so we ran back up the hill , attempting to hide , and figure out what we were going to do.
Later on , that evening , as the sun was setting , we were playing basketball at my house , when we noticed that a plain sedan stopped outside the house across the street. We knew there were detectives in it who were watching us. We were trying to play it cool , but inside we were ready to drop everything and bolt.
Apparently , a friend of one of my cousins had seen us running away from the fire , and that’s how the police knew that it was us.
Eventually , we were able to convince them that we didn’t mean to intentionally set the fire.

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